


We Did Once

by claimedbydaryl



Series: seventy year love story [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bird Bros - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Suit Porn, Weddings, i looked up everyone wearing a suit, it was the best research ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 09:30:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5243261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claimedbydaryl/pseuds/claimedbydaryl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: At Nat and Bruce's wedding Steve and Bucky share longing-filled glances, and one of them finally finds the courage to ask the other to dance after seventy years' worth of mutual pining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Did Once

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pietromavximoff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pietromavximoff/gifts).



“You have got to be kidding me. I look ridiculous.” Steve looked at Sam exasperatingly over his shoulder in the mirror, reaching up to tighten his collar. Sam batted his hands away as he guided Steve to turn around and helped adjust his red tie, even though Steve could do it himself.

“You parade around in tights and yet you don’t agree to a tailored suit?”

“They’re not tights,” Steve mumbled, all two-hundred pounds of muscle and wholesome patriotism, although he scowled like the grumpy ninety-year-old he truly was inside. “It’s a combat-grade uniform, Sam.”

“And I _fly_. I have _wings_.” Sam pointed out. “Our job description requires us all to look like idiots on a regular basis.” He released Steve’s tie, satisfied before levelling him with a serious look. “But could you at least be happy for Bruce and Nat here? Dude, it’s their wedding. A wedding between a guy who turns green when he’s angry and an ex-KGB spy.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Steve remarked in an off-handed fashion, but his smile remained genuine. He was happy for them both—Nat for finally finding some form of happiness, or at least a source of something good, and for Bruce in finally trusting himself to be with someone without holding them at considerable length.  

Sam raised his eyebrows at Steve’s comment, muttering something along the lines of, “Well, it’s not like there’s another burgeoning romance between a superhero and Russian ex-assassin around here. That’d be preposterous, ludicrous, completely unfounded—”

“Sam? Are you okay?” Steve asked. He was oblivious to just about every word Sam had said under his breath since he’d first met Bucky—and the following longing-filled stares Steve and Bucky had shared in-between surreptitious glances at each other.

“Steve, I—” The beginning of Sam’s serious attempt of conducting The Talk with Steve was abruptly cut short as Clint burst into the hotel room.

The archer was already disarmingly dishevelled; his purple dress shirt unbuttoned and stained with a gritty, dark brown stain of what was most likely coffee. At least his silvery suit jacket was neatly buttoned at the waist, although the butterfly bandage across his nose deflected from his obvious fashion blunders.

“Sam, I need help. Immediately.” Clint looked harried and in some form of distress—although no more than he did usually. He slumped into the nearest armchair, running a hand through his sandy blond hair. “Send the Navy SEALS, a strike team, anything—just get me someone who isn’t currently getting married and can work out a goddamn tie.”

“You’re not even wearing a tie, why would you need—” Steve’s suddenly lost his ability to form coherent sentences when Bucky casually trailed Clint into the room because _oh Lord have mercy on his soul._

Looking at Bucky was like staring directly into the sun.

It _blinded_ Steve.

Because Steve hadn’t seen Bucky dressed in anything other than baggy jumpers and sweatpants—so he could hide multiple weapons on his personnel and remain mostly nondescript—in years, literally. He hadn’t looked this good since the day before he’d shipped out in a cocked hat and fitted uniform, smiling with a slow, sinful curve of his mouth. Steve also vaguely recalled the blue coat Bucky had worn during the war, and how the length and the cut had only accentuated his lean profile and rugged lines of his face.

Bucky was standing stiffly, a little uncomfortably, which was absurd because he was easily the most handsome man in the city, in the state—hell, even the entire East Coast. His rumpled, undone tie was almost the exact same shade of red as Steve’s—again, absurd—and he wore a crisp white dress shirt beneath, revealing red braces when he moved to nervously pull at the hem of sleeves.

Bucky’s suit was a slim fit, tailored criminally well to his precise measurements. The buttons of Bucky’s black jacket were silver, as were his engraved cuff links, and a solid silver pocket square was studiously tucked into the front of his suit. At Nat’s behest a red rose was expertly pinned to his left lapel.

And—Steve stuttered a breath, shifting to hide the red flush that bloomed across his cheeks—Bucky had gotten a haircut between leaving his and Steve’s apartment this morning and now. Bucky’s long, unruly hanks of brown hair had been washed and trimmed, artfully coiffed into a style that was almost reminiscent of the first Bucky Steve had ever known—the grinning, confident man who he’d said goodbye to when Steve was still small and sickly.

“Steve—” Bucky finally gathered his courage together and looked at Steve; although he was not prepared for the resplendent vision of his best friend in the least.

And Bucky had agreed to dressing with Clint to avoid exactly this happening—as Steve had coincidentally arranged to get ready with Sam. Because Steve’s broad shoulders were encompassed in the pale eggshell blue fabric—that incidentally offset his cornflower blue irises—of his suit jacket, following the strong lines of his body to a tapered waist, perfectly cinched at the waist over a blue vest and white shirt. Steve’s golden tiepin complemented his cuff links, and he sported the exact same rose as Bucky did; only         Steve’s was pinned to his right lapel.

And Bucky utilised every ounce of self-control he had not to reach out and brush aside the soft blond strand of hair that had curled over Steve’s forehead.

“Steve,” Bucky grappled for the right words, anything not to embarrass himself. This had been a bad idea—not on the same catastrophic level as witnessing Steve assertively stride forward in his Captain America suit and bomber jacket for the first time, but still bad enough. “Steve you… You look good.”

“So… So do—” Steve’s fists clenched as he willed himself not to notice how blue Bucky’s eyes were when he wasn’t hiding beneath his hair or hood. “You look good too.” Steve swallowed, unable to look anywhere except Bucky. “Do you need help with your tie?” He gestured vaguely at the loosened ends of Bucky’s silken tie, which haphazardly hung over his chest.

Bucky looked down at his said fashion accessory, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Uh, yeah. I do, Stevie. That’d be—” He seemingly struggled for air, fixated on the thought of Steve’s hands around his neck. “That’d be real nice of you.”

Steve was in close proximity to Bucky much too soon, and his large tanned hands gripped his tie gingerly. Steve’s gaze flicked from Bucky’s collar—where he was currently smoothing his tie around the starched fabric—to his face once, lingering on Bucky’s parted mouth momentarily. His fingers stalled over Bucky’s clothed collarbone, and Bucky sucked in a tentative gasp at the heat of Steve’s touch through his shirt.

“You okay?” Steve asked, hands beginning to work Bucky’s tie into a loop.

Bucky nodded shakily, oblivious to the fact his and Steve’s head were bent towards each other, almost close enough to share the same breath. Bucky’s hand grazed Steve’s elbow in reassurance and he offered a thin, wavering smile.

Somewhere between Steve and Bucky’s bout of passionate love making expressed entirely through heated stares, Clint and Sam shared a long-suffering look between them, and the latter shrugged his shoulders helplessly. To be honest, seventy years’ worth of sexual tension had made normal human interaction very difficult in their close-knit social group, and it was becoming quite a tiring thing to endure.

Sam straightened his bowtie once in the mirror before saying, “Okay, let’s get this show on the road. I’ve had enough romance for the time being, and it’s bad enough looking at two people in love before even bearing witness to a wedding.”

Steve blinked owlishly, straightening the length of Bucky’s tie before glancing at the standing Clint and Sam. “What did you say?” His hands rested over Bucky’s chest, laid perfectly over the steady beat of his heart.

Clint rolled his eyes, lazily scratching the back of his head. “Are you going two going to kiss or are we waiting until the ceremony to see that?”

“Wh-what?” Steve stuttered, hastily stepping back from Bucky.

Bucky’s hand clenched in the air, empty of Steve’s flesh beneath his fingertips. Then, as if shaking himself from a daze, Bucky noticed Steve’s bewildered expression and the pointed lack of space between them before glancing away. When Bucky turned back he had adopted a tall, soldier-erect stance and a casually flirtatious smile.

“Come on, Clint.” Bucky said, inclining his head towards the hall. “We don’t want to be late.”

Although Clint raised his eyebrows at the two unaccountably ridiculous super soldiers in the room, he merely shrugged in response. Clint trailed after Bucky out of the motel room, laughing under his breath as he heard the meaty thud of Sam smacking Steve on the upside of the head afterwards, followed by Steve’s innocent cry of surprise.

They all amassed in the large ballroom half an hour later, after belatedly finding Rhodey and Tony engaged in a particularly brutal Guitar Hero battle in the sheepish former’s hotel room. Bruce waited at the altar, anxiously pulling at his collar and flattening his hands against his dove grey suit.

“Here,” Pepper said, stepping closer to adjust the small bushel of baby’s breath pinned to the lapel of his suit. “You look fine, Bruce. Relax.” She ducked her head so they were eye-level and smiled in reassurance.

Bruce could barely grimace in response before turning to Clint at the altar, who was acting as the officiator—he’d gotten an online license, somehow.

The wedding was being held in an old hotel with traditional Russian accents, and an expansive ballroom with vaulted gilded ceilings that was being used for both the ceremony and reception. A long white carpet led from the doors to the end of the room, where a raised dais acted as the altar between two standing arrangements of red roses. Closest to the doors were a few round tables, simple and elegant in taste. A heavy chandelier hung from the centre of the roof, filling the room with a soft golden light.

The heavy double doors opened and everyone bustled into place, turning to watch Natasha walk down the aisle on the arm of Steve. If Clint hadn’t been officiating he would’ve given Nat away, so Steve had opted to give her away instead.

And Bucky knew he should’ve been looking at Nat, who was flawless in a floor-length white dress and black lace bodice, holding a bouquet of red roses and hair swept into a bun. But Bucky’s attention was still fixated on Steve, always on Steve—beautifully carefree and handsome Steve.

Steve stopped at the altar, swiftly kissing Nat on the check before allowing a beaming Bruce to take her hand. Bucky awkwardly lowered himself into his seat on Nat’s family’s side, next to Sam, but he was distracted by Steve’s presence on his left.

Bucky feigned interest in his clothed metal arm as Steve casually slung his arm over the back of their chairs. He swallowed thickly as he felt Steve’s hand protectively cup Bucky’s shoulder, absently massaging the seam between metal and flesh beneath. Bucky’s own flesh hand rested on his knee, his pinkie subtly brushing Steve’s thigh whenever they moved. Bucky had never been more attuned to his physical presence, at the offered safety and contentment of it.

Steve, however, was transfixed on the ceremony. Only when Bruce was tearfully reciting his vowels to an incredibly fond-looking Natasha did it strike him that Bruce’s words resonated with him. Bruce was talking about finding a home in a person and sharing the same morals and fears despite how unconventional they could be perceived as, or how they were judged. Steve felt movement under his palm and he looked to his side to see Bucky watching the couple with a faint smile, heart-achingly soft and beautiful.

Steve had once said something about not being able to find someone with shared life experience, but Bucky—he’d shared his entire life with Bucky. Steve had grown up and lived and died with Bucky, several lifetimes over, and yet they had still found each other again. That was more than fate, that was more than simple camaraderie and friendship, that was—

That was—

Bucky glanced at Steve, sensing the weight of his stunned gaze. “You okay?” He mouthed, leaning closer.

Steve nodded jerkily, and he was suddenly aware of the jewel-like colour of Bucky’s eyes, and the slim, accentuated cut of his suit. Steve’s tongue darted out to wet his lips nervously, and he saw Bucky’s eyes track his movements before embarrassingly returning his gaze, his cheeks flushed.

And when Steve opened his mouth to say something he felt Bucky’s hand tentatively close over his knee. Steve’s own hand on Bucky’s shoulder surreptitiously drew him nearer, and their heads had just started to dip together when the surrounding guests erupted with noise and cheering.

Startled, Steve reeled back to see Bruce and Nat pulling away after sharing their first kiss as husband and wife. He was instantly smiling at the sight of the jubilant couple, and Bucky—heart pounding, his pulse a dull thud in his ears—allowed himself a few stolen moments to stare at Steve before he tore himself way. Bucky was already standing and approaching the couple, unbeknownst to the fact that Steve had suddenly registered his absence and accredited it to a swift dismissal.

Steve caught Sam’s gaze and quickly masked his wounded dismay with a too-bright smile.

The reception followed soon after, beginning with Thor engulfing both Nat and Bruce in a large hug. There were few invited guests, but the atmosphere was welcoming and relaxed, despite Maria Hill—dressed formally but efficiently in a sleeveless black dress—constantly talking lowly into a headpiece at her ear. The perimeter was probably more secure and heavily armed than the White House at this point, within reason.

Despite Bruce’s insistence otherwise, Tony had arranged a music system and a small, cleared area for dancing, and after their meal and Bruce’s humble speech of gratitude and well wishes, it was evident that, in retrospect, exposing Tony to free booze and music was not a good idea. Especially when he had swapped Nat’s iPod for his own and soon the entire room was subject to the nauseatingly upbeat lyrics of “Cotton Eye Joe”.

Fortunately, Clint managed to save everyone from certain lyrical death as Bruce led Nat onto the open floor space for their first dance as a married couple. They stopped in the middle; grinning more than smiling, sliding their arms around each other as U2’s “One” began to play quietly through the large speakers.

Bucky watched as Nat and Bruce swayed to the music like they were the only people left in the world, and he joined in to clap once the song had finished. He also watched as Steve joined Sam on the dance floor a few minutes later, and then as Steve managed to spare a song for Pepper, Clint, an inebriated Tony, and even Maria too. Steve was thoroughly winded after dancing with Thor for no less than two minutes, but Steve soldiered on, much to Bucky’s growing misery.

Sometime later, Bucky sullenly stared at Steve as he awkwardly guided Jane to a sultry blues song, and he smiled with a well-worn amusement as Jane offered to lead and Steve gratefully accepted. Bucky startled when someone sat down next to him at the unoccupied hand, sighing as a slim, pale hand reached for Bucky’s mostly full champagne glass.

“You’re an idiot,” Nat commented flatly, still managing to find a reason to dryly chastise Bucky, even on her own wedding day.

“How?” Bucky slouched in his seat, reaching up to loosen the tight knot of his tie at his throat.

Nat’s glare had the ability to make weaker men tremble in fear, but Bucky held strong. “Because you know exactly what you want and you know that it would only bring good things to you both, and yet you won’t even try.”

“But it’s Steve.”

“And?”

Bucky sighed, weary with this entire charade. “He hasn’t even looked at me since the ceremony.”

“Because he’s trying to keep occupied so he doesn’t focus on the fact he isn’t dancing with the one person he wants too.” Nat’s tone was gentle, as was her hand on his arm. “Have you ever even asked him to dance with you?”

Bucky opened his mouth to retort, but he was stopped by the memory of a thousand dances—and a thousand times he looked away and grinned at a lone, smaller man he secretly wished was in his arms. He looked at Nat helplessly before stumbling to his feet—nervous with energy, dumb with courage.

He walked with a firm stride towards Steve, steadily losing bravery as he tapped on Steve’s shoulder. Steve turned, straining with the effort not to crush Jane in his grip, but his smile disappeared the moment he recognised Bucky.

“I—” Bucky’s throat ran dry, parched.

Jane looked between the two of them before subtly excusing herself to go find Thor.

“Buck, I—”

“Do you want to dance with me?”

The room fell silent as Elvin Bishop’s “Fooled Around And Fell In Love” ended, and Steve could only stare at Bucky in a mixture of fear, apprehension and kindled hope. The void of noise was filled with a melody of soft acoustic sounds, followed by the folk tones of The Avett Brothers.

Bucky clenched his jaw, squeezing his eyes shut to erase the sight of Steve’s shock—unwilling to witness his best friend hopelessly begin to stiltedly reject Bucky’s offer. And Bucky turned; ready to escape the stifling air of the room when Steve caught the cuff of his shirt. Hesitantly, carefully, Bucky dared to look at Steve.

“I’ve been waiting about seventy years to hear you ask me that,” Steve admitted breathlessly.

With a short, sharp tug Bucky’s was pulled back against Steve, his body slotted together with Steve’s like two halves of a perfect whole. Bucky blinked, stunned and relieved. But when he looked up at Steve, registering the weight of Steve’s hands settled low across his back, Bucky realised that he’d never been able to find home before—because Steve had always been his home.

“You okay?” Steve’s breath was hot against Bucky’s ear.

In response, Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve, revelling in the feeling of the strong bones and toned muscle of shoulders beneath his palms. Even now, he still worried that Steve was too weak, but physical touch seemed to assuage his fears. Bucky was struck by a vague recollection of a rundown apartment with a rickety fire escape outside the window and dimmed lighting, a smaller body pressed to him as music filled the room.

“Did we ever dance? Before the serum?” Bucky asked.

Steve pulled back, something infinitely intimate swirling in his gaze. “We did once.”

The music was different, more grounded in an earthy twang than old-fashioned, but when Bucky dropped his head in the cradle of Steve’s shoulder the feeling remained the same. The shape of Steve’s body had changed, moulded into something new, but his soul hadn’t. He remembered Steve quivering in his arms, of a wet mouth pressed to his after panting with the effort of learning how to dance in their ramshackle home. He remembered the feeling of restfulness, of completion, of pure and blinding joyfulness.

Soon Bucky was eased into a contented lull, absently following Steve’s slow rocking to the molasses-smooth quality of the lyrics— _Oh, Brooklyn, Brooklyn, take me in, are you aware the shape I’m in? My hands they shake, my head it spins, oh, Brooklyn, Brooklyn, take me in._

Bucky nosed at Steve’s neck affectionately, angling his head upwards and smiling as Steve leaned down to press their lips together in a chaste, close-mouthed point of contact.

To the side of the dance floor, Sam raised an eyebrow at Clint, who ecstatically pumped his fists into the air silently. Satisfied with the outcome of tonight’s events, Clint swept into a low bow, holding his hand out to Sam and grandiosely asking for the next dance. Sam graciously accepted his offer, throwing his head back to laugh richly as Clint quickly gathered him close in a spirit rendition of the tango, moving dangerously across the dance floor.

Across the room, encircled in Bruce’s steady arms, Nat smiled at them—all of them, every single one she cared for—from over her husband’s shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, but now imagine Steve and Bucky in suits. At their own wedding. You're welcome.
> 
> I'm always up for some intelligent discussions concerning Steeb and Buck-a-roo's epic romance on [tumblr](http://diggitydamnsebastianstan.tumblr.com/)


End file.
